The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 171: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CASTAWAYS OF violent suction filled his ears. A second later his head was driven into the rear point of the cylinder as he started sud- denly and rushed at the weather bureau like a bullet from a gun. CHAPTER XIII. MILES JERNYNGHAM, WEATHER DICTATOR. LUMLEY was too dazed to note when or how the cylinder came to a pause. He was conscious of some one work- ing at the upper half of the shell and was presently blinking in a bright light as the lid was thrown back. He heard a yell of consternation and a patter of running feet; then an excited voice: “Mr. Jernyngham! Mr. Jernyng- ham!” “Hush that clamor, Simpson, 5,”. came a second voice, and one of author- ity. “ What’s the row, anyway? ”’ “Come here, please, Mr. Jernyng- ham! There are no rain-plugs in that cylinder from Kennedy, 18.” Lumley heard a rumble of anger from Jernyngham and a movement in his direction. He sat up. Jernyng- ham and Simpson, 5, were close. Jer- nyngham recoiled and Simpson gave another yell and pressed fearfully back against the wall. “Suffering cyclones!” exclaimed Jer- nyngham, recovering himself. ‘ Ever- son Lumley, or I’m a Hottentot!”’ “Good morning, Miles,” said Lum- ley, cheerfully. “I’ve just-had a nar- row escape. You see, the guards were after me and Kennedy had to load me into the cylinder and fire me through the tube. How are you?” Miles Jernyngham embraced his un- expected guest with great ardor. “We'll remember Kennedy for that!” he declared. ‘‘ Confound that bloomer brigade, anyhow! There’s no rime or reason in the way they’re acting. But they'll get enough of it before we’re done with them. ‘Tickled to death to see you, old man! Come into the office and tell me all about it.” THE YEAR 2000. 157 Lumley fished his shoes out of the cylinder and turned to follow the weather dictator out of the tube-room. “ Get a grip on yourself, Simpson,” laughed Jernyngham as he passed his assistant. “I don’t wonder that you were taken aback when you looked for rain-plugs and found my old friend, Everson Lumley. Sun’s hot in Syra- cuse and they want a few clouds. As soon as they shoot in a hundred dollars, push a couple of cloud-plugs into the Syracuse section.” “ Very well, sir,” answered Simp- son, slowly recovering his mental poise. The way from the tube-room to the office carried Lumley and the dictator through a large chamber in which three meek-looking men of the period were at work. A large map of the State of New York had been split into three sections and fastened to three blank walls. Every town, village, and crossroads was plainly marked, and the entire sur- face was gouged with holes. Some of these holes were empty. Others were filled with round-headed plugs of dif- ferent colors. On his way through the room Jer- nyngham paused and cast a critical eye over one of the sections. “TI guess you’d better pull out that Steuben County plug, Arnold, 31,” said he. “ We've already given them more rain than they’ve paid for. And I want you to be more careful with the gale-plugs, Arnold. Herkimer County didn’t whack-up for that last spell of fair weather, and I told you to switch in one gale-plug and you switched in two. I just heard that you unroofed three stores in Coldbrook and blew over a Steeple in Fairfield. Be a little more careful or you'll get your walk- ing-papers.”’ Jernyngham passed on into the office and closed the door after Lumley. “It’s a great graft, Lumley, this weather business, grinned Jernyng- ham, in high good humor, as he mo- tioned his guest to a chair. “ H-m,” said Lumley, sitting down cComicbooks CO